


Under The Mask

by Arachnaboy



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, I repeat, I'm trying, Irondad, Italian Mafia, N.o.t s.tarker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Tony Stark Has A Heart, boxer peter, not st.arker, spiderson, this is a son father bond, ya nasties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13882128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachnaboy/pseuds/Arachnaboy
Summary: Life is a limbo of struggle and survival for Aunt May as a single parent. Working day and night, barely making enough to pay the rent and keep food in the fridge, all while trying her hardest to raise Peter through it all.Meanwhile, Peter uses his mutated spider strengths and abilities to make quick illegal money but gets riled up and dragged into a hole he dug himself in with Queens' most ruthless mafia.Tony Stark, on the other hand, is in desperate need of new Avengers recruits, and conveniently enough he stumbles upon Queens' friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Arachnaboy from tumblr and this is trash

 

There were a lot of thoughts that buzzed around in Peter's head, like a nest of angry wasps, that distracted him from the throbbing pain on his knuckles and the soreness in his biceps as he slammed his fists against the punching bag.

He thought of May's tired face that looked 20 years older than she was due to the over exhaustion she put herself through on a daily basis. He thought of the times where she'd eat nothing but ice cubes so that Peter had a filling dinner to eat. He thought of the dark circles under her eyes and the bruises on her knees. The callouses on her fingers and hands that were once soft and comforting to the touch, were now dry and cracked, the life seeping out of them.

And that's all Peter could think about. 

There was only so much he could handle in life. It took away his parents, it took away Uncle Ben, and now it's dragging Aunt May by the ankles, sucking her into the void of its misery and suffering while she tries to claw her way out of its grasp. All while trying to keep Peter away from its reach. He wasn't going to sit around and watch it happen anymore.

Even if it meant that Peter was going to associate himself with Queens' most dangerous Fight Club mafia. Sure, he could've taken on a part-time job like working at a grocery store as a clerk, or sweeping floors at a movie theatre, but he needed the money as fast as possible. There was no time left to waste anymore. He just wanted to get May out of the misery she's in as quick as possible. 

The mafia had taken notice of him after his first fight where he had 4 clean knock-outs in one night, thanks to his newfound spider powers. Peter was quick, agile, strong and light on his feet, unlike his opponents, who were slower, sloppy, clumsy and uncoordinated. They were easy wins for Peter. The mafia called themselves 'The Sicilian Mafia', also known as simply the Mafia and frequently referred to by members as Sicilians. 

They follow 'omertà', a code of silence and secrecy. If any of the mafia members were to spill confidential or sensitive information from within The Sicilians, they'd be instantly executed and wiped out. They were good at obliterating targets off the grid, including everyone involved in their life. They were also notoriously known for drug dealing, assassinating, pimping and fight club managing.

They had one of the few best fighters on their side, earning them a ton of money and street cred but they were no match for Peter. He knocked them out clean, breaking their teeth and noses, none of them landing any punches on him back. Just like that, the word spread around about him. A 15-year-old lanky little kid, clean knocking one of the fight club's most ruthless and savage Scillian mafia fighters? That was sure to get them talking.

If Peter were, to be honest, he wanted nothing to do with these criminals. He just wanted to earn a few bucks to pay off the rent just enough so they wouldn't get evicted and end up on the streets like a bunch of abandoned dogs. He was also sick of seeing May's hollow cheeks and sunken eyes and maybe Peter can afford to get her a hot meal for a change. 

But the Sicilians made him an offer he couldn't refuse. And that was that.

Peter's thoughts were interrupted by Michael's deep voice from behind him, "Hey Pete, you're up next", he informs in his thick New York accent.

"A-alright, give me a few minutes to bandage up", Peter replies, not looking back at Michael. He huffs in annoyance to himself, just wishing for this burdensome life to be over already. 

Here's the dilemma Peter was in; Spider-Man is a hero and vigilante of Queens. Fighting crime day and night, giving the people the peace and safety they need and deserve.

Peter Parker, on the other hand, was as much as a criminal scum as the next bad guy. He wasn't just participating in illegal underground fight clubs and earning illegal money, but he was also involved with New York's biggest mafia criminals. Peter never asked for this, but it's what he gets for messing with that part of town. He should've known better, but seeing Aunt May struggle like this, he got desperate. He couldn't bear watching her suffer for him. 

Peter walks out of the training and out to the fighting floor that's surrounded by regular fans and clients of the club. Some were bettors, others were sadists who just enjoyed watching people get beaten the shit out of them and their blood getting sprayed onto the ring floors, and the rest were fighting members of the club. It's not that big of a community but that was the whole point of fight clubs.

Small and secretive. The fights took place on the bad side of town, in an old and small underground gym. It was disguised as a gym but really, it was a bloodbath. Everyone around the neighborhood knew better than to snitch or report to the feds. Omertà.

Peter meets his opponent on the opposite side of the boxing ring who had eyes filled with fury and anger, none of it necessarily aimed at Peter. People fought in fight clubs to relieve stress and anger they have accumulated in their lives from either low paying jobs, bad marriages, mental instabilities or just anger management issues.

But this was just another day for Peter. No anger, no motive or sick fantasies. Just another face that's going to haunt him for the rest of his nights. Another person to get beaten senseless added to the list. Another fight added to fuel his nightmares. Another guilt dumped at his conscious. Another fight.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

"Sir, I really don't think you should be pouring yourself another glass"

"Shut up Jarvis. I can pour myself whatever I want", Tony snaps back at the AI with a slur, pouring himself the ninth glass of whiskey he's had this evening. This is what Tony Stark did behind closed doors, drink away his sorrows and regrets and drown his thoughts with an overpriced brand of alcohol that probably cost way more than a studio apartment in New York. 

The reminiscent bittersweet taste and strong burn of the alcohol hitting the back of his throat, giving him flashbacks of his alcoholic days. Back when Tony was involved with all the things wrong in the world.He had tears threatening to spill in his eyes, but he suppressed them by downing more alcohol than his body could take.  _Maybe one more glass will spare me from having to wake up ever again_ , Tony thought to himself.

Just as he was about to pour himself another glass, Rhodey rushes in through the apartment, frantically advancing towards Tony and snatching the bottle out of his hand. 

"Hey, I was using that", Tony protested weakly with a slur, lazily trying to take back the bottle from Rhodey's grasp.

"Yeah you've had enough", Rhodey said sternly, pushing Tony back down on the couch he was seated in

"What brought you here anyway?" Tony said in between hiccups, still trying his hardest to swallow the lump forming in his throat

"Jarvis emergency contacted me after your second panic attack and seventh glass of.." Rhodey leans up the half-empty bottle to look at the label "60-year-old Macallan."

"Wow, Jarvis. Even my own AI, that I created myself, is betraying me", Tony huffs, leaning his head back. Rhodey sets the bottle down, away from Tony's reach and takes a seat next to him.

"Is that what this is about?", Rhodey asks, looking at Tony with now sympathetic eyes. Tony lets out a shaky sigh, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

"I worked so damn hard to get this thing going, you know?", he says. "I put all my focus and energy into the Avengers and then somehow I still manage to screw it up", he shuts his eyes and lets out a long shaky breath. 

"Hey, woah, I'm still here man. You got me", Rhodey says reassuringly. He rests a comforting arm on Tony's shoulders, slightly leaning him into an embrace. "Plus, didn't you mention something about a kid in a onsie catching a three thousand pound car with his bare hands?"

Tony snaps his eyes open as if an imaginary light bulb at the top of his head had lit up. Tony had been keeping a close eye on the 'Spider-Man', as they called him. A small hero of Queens with very impressive physical strengths abilities that would serve as a good asset to the Avengers, but Tony was too busy getting drunk and succumbing into his self-loathing habits over the break up of the Avengers that he completely forgot about him. 

Maybe this is what Tony needs; a distraction. To direct all his attention and focus on someone else, someone who probably deserved it. And who better to spend it on than a teenage hero in pajamas? 

"You're right. I gotta go", Tony says, sloppily trying to raise himself up from the couch. 

"Hey woah, you're not going anywhere. You need water and sleep", Rhodey protested, pulling back Tony on the couch with very minimal effort. He was pretty weak and defenseless when intoxicated.

Tony obeys and lays down on the couch, resting his head on the opposite side of where Rhodey was sitting and resting his feet on Rhodey's lap. "Fine. I'll sleep here", he mumbled. He shut his eyes and rested his head and for once, there was a tiny glimmer of hope Tony could feel in his chest. Something he hadn't felt in a really long time. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic probably wont even survive 2 chapters but here goes nothing


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS. Y'ALL KEEP ME GOING ITS THE ONLY REASON WHY I KEEP WRITING I LOVE YOU ALL

"Good job, kid", Michael says, patting Peter on the shoulder while a cigarette hung from his mouth. Peter winces at his touch, muttering a deadpanned 'thanks'. He was too flustered and mentally drained from his recent fight to deal with anything more than a short conversation at the moment. The fights tired Peter out mentally more than they did physically.

Physically speaking, the fights were nothing. Peter had a super metabolism and limitless energy, thanks to his cursed mutated powers. But on a more mental note, Peter spent way too much time having mini breakdowns and self-loathing before and after fights, both the traumatic and brutal images flashing in his head in never-ending loops. He'd sometimes vomit after fights, wanting to just puke out all the images of broken noses, chipped teeth, bleeding eyeballs and snapping ribs out of his system.

"Here's this week's pay. You've earned it", he says, taking out a wad of cash wrapped around in a rubber band and handing it over to Peter, which he accepts with a bitter taste at the back of his throat, knowing that this money was earned by spilling someone's blood on the floor for some illegal cash and entertainment.

"I-uh- thanks", Peter replies coldly, shoving the wad of cash into the front pocket of his hoodie, avoiding Michael's gaze.

"Father has been very impressed with your work", Michael says, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke in Peter's direction, which he doesn't react to, "Keep it up and we'll start payin' ya double"

"Cool. Send him my regards", Peter replied, making his way up the tiny stairs that lead to the outside from the gym.

"Regards sent. Ciao, tigrotto", Michael says, lazily waving two fingers away from his head in a salute and shutting the metal door of the gym behind him, leaving Peter outside to his own devices.

He cringes at the nickname Michael had given to him, wanting to spit at him. He runs a tired hand through his disheveled sweaty hair, sighing to himself at the thought of just going back home and laying in bed, unwinding his sore muscles and resting his pounding head.

He spent the subway ride back home staring at his bruised knuckles, thinking of all the faces he was responsible for beating. The noses he had broken. The teeth he had knocked out. All because of these hands. And the undeserved powers he had. 

There weren't any proper fighting guidelines to fight clubs. Punch and knock your opponent out. That's all there was to it. Some fights would get out of hand but there weren't any referees or coaches paying attention whether someone dies in the rink. Whatever happens to you in fight clubs is on  _you_.

Peter tried to convince himself that it's all worth it, because even the blood he had on his hands, at least he had this month's rent in his pocket. It's what had to be done. It was either this or the streets.

The subway halts at his stop, snapping him out of his trance. He walks out of the opened doors with the flood of faceless passengers going about with their lives. He shoves his hands in his pocket, gripping the wad of cash.

 _This should be enough to cover this month's rent and maybe fill the fridge with a bit of groceries,_ Peter thought, his finger flicking each page. 

His phone buzzes with a text notification in his pocket just as he went up the stairs that exit the subway, the cold winter air hitting him in the face. He dreadfully peers at his phone, already suspecting who it could be

_Michael: **Meeting with GF tomorrow.**_

_Michael: **Don't be late.**_

Peter's heart skips a beat in panic, dreading what the Godfather had in store for him. He stops his tracks at the top of the stairs and exhales with an annoyed hiss, shutting his eyes for a split second and letting himself detach from the world. All he needed was a second to himself. Without worrying about fucking Michael, or May, or the next fight, or Godfather, or anyone.

A stranger passing by bumps into his shoulder, snapping his eyes open and holding onto the railings for balance. He looks up at the grey autumn skies, searching around for nothing specific. Just letting his eyes wander to the nothingness of the passing clouds and dull skies. 

His eyes stop their aimless wandering and land on a big yellow 'M'. The good 'ol Golden Arches of globalization and heart disease. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the haunting memory that crept into his mind.

 

_**Flashback**_

 

_Peter had tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror of the gym, on the verge of a panic attack. This was only his fourth fight since he joined the club and he was already having a silent breakdown in the bathroom._

_He wasn't scared of losing or facing other bigger and much older fighters. It's the aftermath that made Peter's stomach do sickening flips and bile rise up in his throat. Blood coating the floors while people around him cheered him on with big grins on their faces, throwing money at him. Chanting his name like he was some hero._

_Yeah, some fucking hero you were, Peter._

_Maybe he should just quit. But just one more fight to earn a couple more bucks, and he's done. Yeah, that's the plan._

_Just don't think about it. Think about your starving Aunt. Her hollow cheeks. Tired eyes. Her quiet sobs in the night that he couldn't drain out no matter how hard he pressed his hands to his ears and hummed the tune to 'Hushabye Mountain'._

_Damn these cursed spider senses._

_He wiped the tears off his face and took a deep shaky breath through his nose, attempting to compose himself. He opens the bathroom door to exit to the gym, only to be met by two tall men in suits, blocking the way._

_Peter looked up at them questioningly, trying his hardest to hide how scared he actually felt._

_"C-can I pass?", Peter asked, walking towards the gap in between the two men. They shift closer to each other, occluding whatever space there was between them, indicating that they weren't going to let Peter pass through._

_"There is someone who wants to meet you", One of the men spoke, his voice stern and deadpan._

_"Y-yeah can they see me t-tomorrow? I really need to go-" Peter stuttered, his fear peaking through the facade he tried to keep on._

_"Don't make us cause a scene, boy", The other man threatened, taking a step forward. Peter raises his hands up in defense, taking an alert step back._

_"Alright, Jesus. I-I'll come" Peter surrendered, swallowing down his anxiety. The two men separate, opening a space for Peter to walk through._

_"He's waiting for you outside in the black Hummer", One of the men instructed. "No funny business"._

_Peter nodded and made his way to the exit of the gym, and as promised, was met by a black Hummer with black tinted windows parked right outside the curb with another man in a suit waiting outside of it. Peter approached the car hesitantly, praying to whatever God out there watching over him to help him get through this mess._

_The man in the suit opens the backseat car door, gesturing with his hand for him to enter. God this was so cliche but still so terrifying._

_Peter entered the back of the Hummer, it's interior unusually dark due to the black tinted windows. He couldn't really see clearly due to the darkness, except for the little flares of light peaking through the windshield. He takes a seat next to a man he suspects to be 60-something due to the wrinkles creasing on his forehead and eyes. His hair and beard silver at the sides due to aging, with a lit cigar in his mouth, fogging up the car with smoke._

_Peter sits in silence, waiting for whatever tragedy was going to happen to him. Maybe they'll cut their head off and dump his body in the river. Or slice off his hand so that he couldn't fight again, or-_

_"Sorry for this hassle. I hope they weren't harsh on you", The man spoke, an accent evident in his speech. Maybe Italian? Peter stayed quiet, too scared to speak or say the wrong thing that will result in his neck being sliced open._

_"More of the listening type, are you? That's fine, I like talking", He continued after seeing that Peter wasn't going to respond._

_"My name is Vito Corleone", He said, his name rolling off his tongue with an effortless accent. "And I'd like to discuss some business with you"_

_"N-no thank you. I don't want to discuss any sort of business", Peter replied, his voice betraying him with a shake._

_"Unfortunately", Vito says, taking the cigar out of his mouth and placing it between his fingers "That's not up to you to decide" he finishes while pointing his lit cigar at Peter's direction, making him lean away slightly._

_Vito stares at Peter's horrified expression in the dark, the silence suspenseful._

_"Peter Parker. Age 15. Midtown high-school", He says, taking a drag out of his cigar. "Deceased parents, Richard Parker and Mary Parker. Living with your aunt, May Parker", he continues listing all of Peter's personal facts as if it was just casual public information._

_"H-how.. w-what-"_

_"You come into_ my _club, beat up my best men, steal my fights and expect to just get away with it?", Vito said bitterly, yet still remaining calm. "I know everything about you, so I suggest you remain truthful with me, yeah?"_

_Shit shit shit_

_Does that mean he knew about Spider-man too? There was no way. They can't know. Spider-Man was all he had left and it was being taken away from him too. Peter was starting to feel light headed from how much his heart was beating and the level of anxiety he was under. His face probably looked paler than white toast._

_Vito tapped the driver on the shoulder, signaling him to start accelerating on the road. Where the hell were they taking him?_

_"H-hey w-where are you taking me?", Peter asked with a fearful stutter as the car sped into the street._

_"McDonald's drive-through", Vito says nonchalantly, as if it's an obvious reply. "Can't make you talk business with an empty stomach", he says disapprovingly, a deep wrinkly frown placing itself between his brows._

_Peter was thinking fast. Say something. Anything._

_"I-uh- d-don't have any money on me", Peter said, his voice small and hesitant._

_Vito lets out a bark of a laugh, glancing at Peter with squinted eyes,_ _"Don't be ridiculous. Dinner's on me"._

_Peter stares back at him in horror, looking into his dark eyes that held some kind of hunger in them. He wasn't sure what he was hungry for, but it definitely revolved around Peter._

_"We're going to make a nice family Peter", Vito said, a crooked smile placing itself on his lips._

_**End of flashback**_

 

Memories are funny, aren't they? How something as simple as a name, or color, smell or logo can trigger an unwanted memory that quick. No matter how small and out of context the fragment was. Peter wished he could just sink into the floor and disappear. But unfortunately, that's not how the world functioned. 

He continued down the street, subconsciously keeping his head low as he walked. A habit he had developed after becoming associated with The Sicilians. They always seemed to be watching. Always knowing where you're going, where you've been, what time and for how long. Peter's life had just become one big spectrum of anxiety and paranoia.

He reaches his apartment building, knocking on the landlord's door, Mr. Drew,  before going back to his apartment. He could hear the sound of the T.V playing through the door but yet Drew wasn't answering the door. 

Peter starts knocking harder, the door rumbling under each knock. Shortly he hears the shuffling of the door chains on the other side, indicating that Drew was unlocking the door. 

"Whaddya want?", Drew greeted with a low groan, opening the door just enough to only reveal him. His eyes were red from either lack of sleep or just had been awake from a nap. 

"I-uh- got this month's rent", Peter says, pulling out the cash from his pocket and handing it over to him. Drew opens the door wider at the sight of the cash, revealing his messy excuse for an apartment. He takes the cash and unwraps it from the band, counting each cash paper to confirm. 

"Yep, this is it. Surprised you're on time this month", he says, chuckling mostly to himself. "New job or something?"

"Yeah something like that", Peter replies with a shrug. They exchange their cold goodbyes, Drew shutting the door behind him and Peter walking down the hall and up the stairs to head to his own apartment. He stops in front of his door, noticing a paper stuck by the landlord that read with boldly printed letters "LATE RENT". Peter glared at the paper with a grimace and tore it off the door with a huff, crumbling it with his fist and tossing it to the side. That asshole landlord had to be so god damn obnoxious. Peter was barely a week late on the rent yet he still stuck those damn notices. He just enjoyed going around tormenting the neighbors with the rent and his humiliating notices. Dick.

Peter shoves his hands in his pockets upon entering the apartment so that May wouldn't see his bruised and scabbed knuckles. She didn't know about the job he had to make money but she knew about Peter paying the rent. They have an argument every week about where Peter gets the money from, which he just replies with "I'm working a couple of jobs. Just don't worry about".

He grabs the rest of the cash he had saved for groceries out of his pocket and places them on the kitchen countertop for May. Just as he was about to enter his room he hears distinct chattering coming from the living room. May had guests over? 

Whatever, he thought, could be just the neighbor from across the hall coming over for some tea. He walks over to his fridge to retrieve orange juice.

"Peter? You're home?", May calls from the living room

"Yep. Just got here", Peter called back, leaning his head back chugging down some orange juice to quench his thirst. 

"You won't believe who's here to see us", May says, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Peter hums a little 'mhhhmm', acknowledging her presence while not looking at May as he continued to chug down OJ

"Hello, Mr. Parker", a masculine voice says from the doorway. "I'm Tony Stark, but you already know that."

Peter's eyes widen as he choked' on the orange juice that had been inhaled instead of swallowed due to the shock, some of the juice dripping out of his mouth and onto the floor. He starts to cough and choke, pounding his fist against his chest in an attempt to clear his lungs. 

"W-what", Peter chokes out between coughs. He composes himself and places the carton of OJ on the counter, looking at, apparently the  _Tony Stark,_ with watery eyes. 

What the hell was going on? Tony Stark was standing in his kitchen, staring at him with folded arms. 

Peter starts to blink,  _shit he was hallucinating now_.

"You're not dreaming, kid. I'm actually standing right here", Tony spoke as he saw Peter rapidly blinking his eyes in disbelief. 

"Wh-what-how-wh-h-hey I'm Peter", He gulped, stumbling over his words.

"Why didn't you tell me about the grant?", May asks with excitement, her eyes lighting up.

"T-the grant?", Peter asks, his gaze drifting back and forth between May and Tony.

"Yeah, the September foundation. You've sent us your application, and we've been very impressed. So I came here personally to tell you that you're in", Tony says, giving Peter a little wink at the end.

"Ohhh y-yeah yep that. I signed up for that. The September foundation yes", Peter says, playing along to Tony's lie. 

"Is that where you've been getting the money from? Why didn't you tell me! This is great news, Peter!", May beams up and advances towards Peter engulfing him in a hug. Peter hesitates and hugs back, looking at Tony from across May's shoulder in a questioning matter. Tony brings up his index finger to his lips, mouthing a muted 'ssshh' at him.

"I'm so proud of you Peter", May says, pulling away. He mumbles a small 'thanks', still extremely perplexed with what was going on.

"Hey, May, you don't mind if I steal Peter for a bit to talk in private with him?", Tony asks.

"Yes, yes go ahead I don't mind at all", May says, stepping out of the kitchen and leaving the both of them alone in the kitchen. After a few minutes of some confused and awkward silence, Peter finally speaks up

"I-"

"No no. Not here", Tony cuts him off quickly, not allowing Peter to utter another word. "Somewhere more private", he says, more hushed so that May wouldn't hear them from the living room. Peter nods and exits the kitchen, telling Tony to follow. 

He leads him up to his room, Tony closing and locking the door behind him. 

"Listen whatever it is you have to offer, I'm gonna have to pass", Peter says, sitting down on his bed with a huff, his tense muscles feeling relieved at the contact of a soft surface.

"I don't think so", Tony says, pulling out his phone and revealing a holograph video of Spider-Man swinging around Queens. Peter's eyes widen, his heart thumping in his chest. 

"That's you isn't it? Wow look at you go, three thousand pounds, nice catch", Tony exclaims with amazement as the footage shows Spider-Man stopping a speeding car with his bare hands.

"Me? No way. I mean, come on, look at me", Peter says, shaking his head.

"I am looking at you", Tony says, looking at Peter with a serious expression. "What you're doing for this city, is amazing. You're not just a high-school kid, but you're also a hero this city looks up to. Look at them cheering you on", Tony rambles on, pointing at the video of people clapping and chanting 'Spider-Man' after he had stopped a bank robbery. 

Peter looks away sadly at the ground,  _Yeah you have no idea how much of a hero I am_ , Peter spat at himself mentally. Peter remains silent, clearly unable to back himself up. 

"Look you can't tell anybody", Peter says with a pleading look in his eyes. "Especially not Aunt May. Alright?"

"Your secret's safe", Tony says, taking a seat next to Peter on the bed. "You selflessly go around helping people, putting yourself at risk and in harm's way to protect others. Why?", he asks, looking at Peter.

"I... I don't know",  _yes I do._ Peter lied, quick flashbacks of the night of the incident with Uncle Ben flashed in his head, his heart sinking at the memory. 

"Come on. You go out here, doing the world a favor bigger than yourself, without any reward or recognition", Tony retorts, disregarding Peter's reply. "You've clearly got a motive".

Peter takes a deep breath, clearing his lungs from the suffocated memory of his uncle. "I just... I've witnessed and seen enough bad in the world. There was a time where I didn't-", Peter stops, shutting his eyes and recollecting his thoughts. "- _couldn't_ stop it. And now that I can.." Peter sighs, shrugging a little. "If I'm not going to do it, then who will?"

Tony notices the distraught look in Peter's eyes. A look he was too familiar with. He could tell the kid was going through it. He saw the notice letter stuck outside the door, and the old weary furniture and the tearing wallpaper at some corners of the house. Tony knows struggle when he sees it. He hasn't been necessarily through it, but he could still sense it, whether it was from May's tired eyes or the small apartment that could use some new couches and curtains, he noticed it all.

"We could really use someone like you on the team", Tony says, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder, which he winces away from. Tony notices the discomfort and retracts his hand.

"T-team? What team?" Peter asks with wide puppy eyes.

"you know, The Avengers Team", Tony replies, a smirk on his lips appearing when he detected the child-like twinkle in his eyes. The way Peter's eyes just lit up upon hearing the Avengers team made Tony chuckle.

No way. 

Was he just getting recruited to the Avengers team?

Was he dreaming?

Joining the Avengers had been further than a dream for Peter. A fantasy. He barely thought he would see the day where he'd be talking face to face to Tony Stark, let alone be recruited to the Avengers team. This could be a game changer for Peter. Maybe he'll finally find a way to get out of the Sicilians and redeem himself. But if Peter brings up leaving the Sicilians to Vito, things weren't going to end well. This was a dead end for Peter.

"I-I don't know about this. I have a lot going on my plate right now", Peter says, the words coming out like poison in his mouth. Peter would drop anything to join the Avengers.  _Anything._ But he couldn't. 

Tony frowns, confused at Peter's response. He knew Peter wanted this, yet for whatever reason, he was turning it down.

"Think it over. I'll give you a tour of the compound, maybe meet a few of the team members, get you accustomed to the whole thing. Maybe we'll work something out", Tony says nonchalantly, concealing the disappointment he was feeling. 

Peter nods, getting excited over the idea of getting to meet some of the Avengers. Was he going to see Captain America? Just the thought of being in the same room as the Avengers was psyching Peter up with an energy he didn't even know he had left in him. 

"Y-yes. Yeah. Sure. I'd like to", Peter says a little too eagerly. 

"Great. How about tomorrow?", Tony asks.

Just as Peter was about to open his mouth in agreement, he remembered Michael's text, the words flashing in his head.

_Meeting with GF tomorrow. Don't be late._

Ah shit. 

"I-uh, actually can't tomorrow. I've got some... stuff", Peter says, scratching the back of his head. Tony squints his eyes at Peter, his eyes drifting to his bruised knuckles then back to Peter's face.

"Alright, then I'll just give you my number, and we'll sort out a day that's suitable for you", Tony says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, typing out a series of things into his phone. Peter's phone buzzes in his pocket, taking it out and looking at the notification. 

_Unknown Number: **here you go**_

Peter frowns at his phone questioningly, then back up at Tony.

"How did you get my number?", Peter asked, his head tilting to the side

"I'm Tony Stark", Tony shrugged, as if it was na obvious answer, standing up from Peter's bed and heading to the door. "Oh, and by the way, I've got some suit modifications to discuss with you. Maybe a few upgrades here and there, to make your job easier. And maybe protect your hands so they don't get all bloody and bruised up", Tony says suggestively, pointing at Peter's hand.

Peter frowns in confusion for a second then looks down at his hand, Tony's remark making sense in his head as he sees his damaged knuckles. 

"o-oh yeah that. uh yeah sure. Suit modifications- wait what suit modifications?", Peter asks his head shooting up from where he was looking at his hand and up at Tony, who was already exiting the room and heading down for the stairs.

"Wait- what suit modifications?", Peter repeats in a quieter hiss, hurrying after Tony.

"You'll know when you visit the compound", Tony says, continuing down the stairs and heading to the door. 

"May, thank you for having me. It's been a pleasure meeting you", Tony says, walking over to May and giving her a hug. 

"Oh no no, the pleasure's all mine. Thank you for giving Peter this opportunity, really, I can't express how grateful I am", May says as she leans into his hug. They separate, Tony looking at Peter's direction.

"Can't wait to hear more from you, Peter. We'll be waiting", He says with a sly smile on his face, looking Peter dead in the eye as if saying  _'you know what I mean'._

"y-yeah, yup. You'll be hearing from me", Peter nods, playing along.

Tony heads out the door, giving May and Peter one last wave at their direction, May closing the door behind him.

 _We'll be waiting,_ Tony's words replaying themselves in Peter's head, happiness surging through his body at the idea of being at the Avenger's compound and being part of the team, fighting alongside Iron Man. Wow. That happiness quickly fades after he remembers the meeting he had tomorrow, all the energy and optimism he had just accumulated depleting from him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tigrotto means baby tiger in italian


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the sake of drama and character effect, read all the dialogues of Michael and Vito in a thick Boston accent. just do it.

Tony gets in his car with a huff, starting up the engine and accelerating to the main road. He thought for certain that he was going to get a different response from the kid. Maybe, more excitement? Well, he did seem excited for a bit but it dissolved really fast. There were some things that didn't make sense in Tony's head, like how the kid had bruises on his knuckles even though all footage he has seen of him is him webbing up criminals from long range. Also, he wore gloves. Any wise masked hero would at least bandage up their hands before going out there to bust some criminal ass.

"JARVIS, call Rhodey," Tony says, stopping at a red light and massaging his temples that seem to be growing a headache. 

"Hey, Tones. How did it go?," Rhodey's voice projects from the speakers of the car. "We've got a new Avenger on our side I hope?"

"Yeah, not quite," Tony replies deadpanned. "He, kind of, declined the offer. Kind of," he added, the traffic light turning green.

"What do you mean 'kind of'? It's either a yes or a no", Rhodey replied with exasperation. 

"Look he verbally said 'no', but physically he was giving me all the signs of a 'yes'," Tony explained, making a turn to the liquor store.

"What are you even saying-"

"Hey, you've seen the footage of him fighting crime, right? Does he give off a violent sort of impression to you?," Tony asked, interrupting whatever protest Rhodey was going to say.

"I-, No? Maybe? I don't know? Why is this relevant-"

"Just answer please", Tony interrupted again, eager for his perspective.

There was a long pause, followed by a sigh, "from the videos that you've shown me, he webs them up and then ties them up with zip ties. And then apologizes.", Rhodey replies, his voice clearly showing that he was 100% done with Tony. "So no, he doesn't seem like the violent type".

There was a silence, Tony lost in his thinking process and trying to link things up. It was starting to hurt Tony's brain trying to figure this kid out. Why would a 15-year-old super mutant kid, with no parents and no money, patrol around New York in his spare time to stop crime and help people, decline to join the Avengers? It just did not add up. 

Tony's thoughts were interrupted by Rhodey breaking the silence and asking him if he's alright. 

"I'm thinking of keeping a close eye on him", Tony says, already making up his mind

"Tony, I can't even begin to explain how illegal and wrong it is to stalk a 15-year-old boy", Rhodey sighed. 

"It's not stalking. I'm observing. There's a difference", Tony corrected. "Don't worry I got this. I gotta go", Tony added quickly, reaching for the 'end call' button

"Tony, don't hang up wait-", and hung up he did, cutting off Rhodey's protest. Tony was feeling another anxiety attack rising up his chest. He frantically exits the vehicle and walks to the liquor store to buy some alcohol and drown out the panic. 

Tony wasn't sure how he was going to decipher this kid. He saw one thing in Spider-Man and then saw a completely opposite thing in Peter Parker. 

Spider-Man was a hero, swinging around and high-fiving random pedestrians that called his name and leaving apology notes on criminals for the police to read.

Then there was whatever Peter Parker was under the mask. Hesitant, self-reserved, under the shadows and maybe hiding a skeleton or two in his closets. The bags under his eyes and cracked skin on his lips were enough for Tony to know that this kid was not in the right place.

He picks out whatever whiskey the store had available on their shelves, pays for it and goes back in his car to chug down the memories crawling up his throat. The splash of alcohol burning his throat, the reminiscent taste bringing back memories he hoped to forget.

_**flashback**_

_"No listen, the deal is done. I'm not selling you my weapons anymore. It's nothing personal. I just-", Tony took a deep breath, the smell of that god awful obnoxious cigar invading his nostrils and replacing the oxygen in his lungs. He takes a moment to recollect his thoughts, and downs the glass of liquor in a breath, setting it back down."-I don't manufacture weapons anymore. I will send you that last shipment I have. But that's it"._

_Tony looked at him with silent pleading eyes, hoping a man with that much corruption and filth under his fingernails, would have a flare of compassion._

_"Change of heart. I get it", his deep voice expressed. "But Stark, let me tell you", he said, referring to Tony as 'Stark' now instead of 'Tony'. "You can try to be a good man, but you can never erase the bad that you've done". Tony was sick of hearing his Boston accent. His voice. And smelling that stupid cigar of his. He just wanted out._

_And just as Tony watched him leave, he turned back around, giving Tony a look which could only mean sadness as far as this man's facial expression could deliver. "You're not gonna give your old Godfather a hug?", he asked, opening his arms like he always did to Tony and welcome him to his cold embrace._

_Tony gets up and lets himself into his arms, reluctantly trying to look for a comfort in them he once was able to find._

_"Once a Scillian, always a Scillian", He says into Tony's ear, parting away and leaving Tony's office._

_And Tony goes back to refill his glass, in hopes to drown out those last words that stung his eardrums like shrapnel in his heart._

 

\------------

 

Peter's hands were shaking from the amount of damage they've taken over the course of this week. He can't keep this up any longer. One more punch and all the bones in his hands will turn into mush.

"Michael I can't keep going like this. Look at my hands!" Peter huffed, shakily raising his swollen and bruised hands in the air to show Michael.

"It's what the clients want. They pay good money to watch you fight and you want to do it like a pussy with hands all wrapped up?", he replied, swatting Peter's hands away, causing Peter to wince. "People come here to watch you fight dirty. Not safe."

"I'm going to seriously lose my hands if I carry on like this", Peter hissed, looking down at his hands and grimacing at the sight of them. The flesh on his knuckles was swollen and cracked due to all the impact they've been enduring. The bruises extended all the way from his knuckles to his fingers, varying in colors.

"Get cleaned up. We're seeing Father in twenty minutes", Michael ordered, ignoring Peter's protests and pulling out his phone out of his pocket to call their ride.

Peter carefully washed his hands with cold water, watching blood that he wasn't sure was his own or someone else's, mixing in with the water, diluting into a yellowish color and draining into the sink. He could barely bend his fingers without feeling excruciating pain shoot up his hands. His healing powers weren't working as effectively as they usually did due to the lack of nutrition and sleep. 

Peter was practically deteriorating from the inside and out. Mentally and physically. He can't eat due to the constant loss of appetite he has because of his frequent vomiting, he can't sleep because of the nightmares and the guilt that chews on his brain, and he can't even rest due to the continuous paranoia, in fear that one day they were going to come after him, or worse, come after May. 

He hadn't realized how much time he spent getting lost in thought until Michael had started banging loudly on the door.

"Come on tigrotto, we ain't got all day," he called through the door. Peter dried his hands, wrapped them with a bandage in hopes to ease the pain and cover their grim appearance, and exited the bathroom.

They leave the gym and make their way to the car with tinted black windows, parked right outside the curb to take them to their destination. They get in the car and Michael immediately lights a cigarette, engulfing the closed space with it's suffocating smell that Peter can only endure for so long. He let his head lean against the cool window and watched the city lights zoom by. His eyelids start to feel heavier with each passing second, struggling to keep them open.

_**_

  _Peter is in a dark place. A dark room. With no beginning or end. No corners or walls. No ceilings or floors. It's quiet but it's not silent. He feels wetness under his bare feet. Water. Or no, something thicker than water. He can't tell what it is from the darkness._

_The room suddenly turns white, and the liquid under his feet is red. A pool of blood covering the ground. His head is suddenly filled with loud screams and snapping bones. He can't make it stop._

_He feels a stinging burn on his forearm- ouch what the hell-_

_**_

Peter jolts up awake and retracts his arm from whatever was causing the painful burning on his arm

"OW! What the fuck-"

"Wakey wakey Petey", Michael said, holding the lit end of the cigarette towards Peter. He looks down at the area on his arm where the burning sensation lingers and notices a round shaped looking wound, which can only mean that Michael has just burned him with his lit cigarette.

"What the hell was that for?!", Peter exasperated, wincing at the pain radiating from the burn on his arm, the wound already turning into an ugly blister.

"I tried waking you up but you wouldn't budge," Michael shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke into his face. "Whatever, it's just a burn. Stop bitching. Let's go," he said impatiently, getting out of the car. 

Peter mutters a string of cuss words aimed at Michael under his breath as he followed him out of the car. The sun was beginning to set and Peter couldn't help but stare up at the sky and let himself enjoy the view a little bit. It wasn't often that he'd get to look up at the sky and see Queens basking in the orange and pink hues of the setting sun. He's kept his head down for so long he had forgotten how beautiful the sky looked. 

He hears Michael calling his name, snapping him out of his trance. They walk into one of those very expensive and deluxe apartment buildings. A grande pool outside with a waterfall, a lobby with an interior very elegantly designed with a doorman standing by the entrance and a security guard seated behind a reception desk.

The doorman opens the door for Michael as he approached the entrance, Peter following behind and avoiding any eye contact. He gives the security guard a nod, which he returns as if they were greeting each other. 

They get to a fancy looking elevator with a lit mirror on the inside. Peter looked at his reflection and frowned, as if unable to recognize his own self. Michael presses the button with the highest number and the elevator shuts it's doors, taking them up to their desired floor. 

"You look like shit, kid", Michael said, looking at him through the mirror. Peter wanted to roll his eyes at Michael's comment but he wasn't wrong. 

The bags under his eyes spoke for themselves. The cracked lips due to the dehydration and his hollow cheeks due to all that weight loss. His hair was a whole different story, too. His skin was a sickly pale color that made him look like something between a zombie and a starved vampire. He really did look like shit. 

The elevator dings and opens it's doors, revealing a long, not-so-narrow hallway with red carpeting covering the floors. Michael walks to the door that's at the very end of the hallway, slowly knocking on it. He waits and looks over his shoulder to peer at Peter, making sure the kid is still with him. Another slow knock is heard from the other side of the door that sounds identical to the knock Michael had done a few moments ago. 

He leans his head closer to the door and says "la famiglia prima di tutto," just above a mumble. Low enough for Peter not to be able to hear him, which he did, and loud enough for whoever on the other side of the door can hear him. 

Seems like it's some kind of password or code they did in order to confirm their identity. Peter thought it was pretty cool. He's only seen that sort of thing happen in movies.

The door opens to reveal a middle-aged man, his black hair greased back and toothpick hanging from his lips. He gestures with his head for them to come in, a strong smell of cologne, whiskey, and cigars engulfing Peter's nose the second they stepped in. Toothpick-guy closes the door behind them and exchanges a quick hug with Michael.

"Good to see you, brother," toothpick-guy spoke into his shoulder. "it's been a while"

"Yeah yeah I know. Been busy lately", Michael said, pulling away and patting his back.

"Busy babysitting?,"Toothpick-guy asked humorously, his voice gruff and raspy. He and Peter exchanged looks, eyeing each other up and down. Toothpick guy was examining Peter with a smug expression, while Peter looked at him more nervously. You can't blame him for being nervous in a sketchy environment like this. Who knows, one second he's alive, the next they're tossing his head into a river.

"This is the little fighter we been talkin' about," Michael replied, taking off his coat and hanging it behind the door. 

"Ah, so he's the money maker," Toothpick-guy grinned, turning to look at Peter with a now an amused look. "I'm Fredo. I like your work, kid," Fredo said, patting Peter on the shoulder, causing him tense his shoulders in an uncomfortable manner.

"Peter", he said deadpanned, already fed up with this man. "Call me Peter". God did he hate it when they called him all sorts of nicknames but his actual name. He's been called kid, trigrotto, little fighter, money maker, baby Balboa and the list goes on. It's like they don't recognize Peter as an actual person, but just some money making machine that punches people. 

"Father's in his office by the way," Fredo said to Michael. 

Michael nods his head and gestures to Peter to follow him down the hall. It's a pretty nice apartment. Peter expected something more... shady and scary looking? But surprisingly this a pleasant looking apartment with nice furniture and good decor. 

 As they walked down the hallway Peter notices hung up picture frames on the walls. A lot of them look old and vintage, black and white and slightly worn out. There were pictures of a young looking Vito in a tuxedo standing with a young lady in a gown, which he assumes is Vito's wedding photo. Another picture of Vito, his wife, Michael and Fredo as children all posing together. More show a big dinner table filled with smiles, another with all of them sitting around a Christmas tree.

Peter can't help but feel bitter. Even a group of mafias that's responsible for killing people, drug dealing and illegal fight clubbing, have a family that they can all go back home to. Celebrate Christmas with, have big Thanksgiving dinners with, be together happy and Peter wished he had that.

He still had May but everything felt so incomplete after Ben's death. Everything spiraled down after it. Peter barely saw May anymore. Even when he went back home he just hid in his room to tend to all his fight injuries and wounds so that she wouldn't see them. But it didn't matter much to Peter anymore. He tried not to. As long as he made enough to keep them off the streets and put food on the table.

Michael stopped in front of dark oak wood double doors and knocked. He heard a muffled 'come in' from behind the doors and let himself in. He opens the doors to reveal a grand immaculate looking office, the furniture matching with the same shade of dark oak wood, from the office desk to the bookshelves. The red curtains drawn over the windows, giving the room an overall red hue, making it look like a sneak peek of hell. 

Peter must have really gone to hell because there sits Satan on his throne. In all his glory and gore.

Vito is seated in his obnoxiously large black leather office chair, his usual cigar in between his large aged fingers, the smoke rising up into the air and dancing away at the space. The rays of the setting sun are peaking through the red curtains, some of the rays hovered over one half of Vito's face, his brown pupil bright and piercing. Some of the shadowings has accentuated the wrinkles under his eyes and around his lips and cheeks, giving his face a more menacing look due to the carved wrinkles and darkened eyes.

Peter swallowed nervously at the sight of Vito. He's only seen the man once before and it was inside a car with tinted windows at night. Peter was already terrified of this man but to actually see him, seated like that, his eyes dark but piercing right through his soul at the same time, almost got Peter shitting his own pants. 

Vito stands up from behind his desk and opens his arms to greet Michael.

"My son. I've missed you", he spoke, a slight smile curving his lips.

Michael walks into his arms and placed a kiss on both his cheeks before hugging him and pulling away. "I've missed you too, pops."

Vito turned to look at a nervous Peter, still standing just at the doorway, not daring to step another foot into the office. 

"Tigrotto, get your ass over here and greet Father," Michael said sternly, yanking his head forward in a gesture for him to walk in.

Vito frows at Michael disapprovingly, "Don't talk to him like that. He's part of this family now and you treat him with the same respect you'd treat your own brother," he said, his voice low like a growl. 

Michael scoffed and crossed his arms, muttering a 'whatever' and leaning on one of the bookshelves. Peter hesitates to walk in for a second, but he does so anyway, keeping his gaze low and avoiding those menacing eyes he dreaded. Vito walks from behind his desk and stands in front of Peter, towering over him with his height. 

"How's your aunt, Peter?" Vito asked, spiking some sort of conversation.

"Good," Peter replied simply.

"How are you?" He asked.

Peter slightly scoffs at the question.  _How do you think I am you scum?_ "I'm great," Peter replied, swallowing down the snarky remarks that were itching to come out.

"You don't look great," Vito said, putting his hand under Peter's chin and tilting his head up so that he could have a better look at him. Peter wasn't sure what to reply with as he looked at the man's face, looking back down at him with an odd fond look on his face. 

"Your brown eyes resemble someone's I used to know", he said as he examined Peter's eyes, smiling emptily. He wasn't sure if he was smiling at Peter or at the memory of whoever he was thinking of. 

Vito let's go of Peter's chin and walks back to his desk, sitting down behind his desk and gesturing for Peter to sit on one of the chairs in front of his desk. Peter obeys and sits on one of the chairs, slumping shoulders and cautiously placing his damaged hands on his lap. 

"I know you don't have much family anymore. All you have is your aunt," Vito said, taking a puff out of his cigar and blowing it out. "And you take good care of her. I can see that in you," he spoke solemnly. "We didn't really meet under good impressions the first time, and I hope you forgive me for that," he said with genuine, his eyes that were once stone cold now have a soft gaze. How can this man go from looking like the devil to a sincere person in under five minutes?

Peter wasn't sure where Vito was going with this talk. He wasn't sure why he was being nice so suddenly either. He was too tired and worn out to think about it too hard.

"This family, the Sicilians, is now also yours to call your own. You are loyal, honest, you have kept your Omertà, and that's what this family is all about. And you will make one honorable Sicilian", he spoke as he stood up and walked behind Peter's chair where he was seated. He places his hand on one of Peter's shoulders, Peter resisting the urge to flinch at his touch. "Whatever you need. We are here".

As genuine as this man sounded, or tried to sound, Peter didn't buy it. And he didn't want to be a part of it.

Sure, Peter wanted a family, but not a family of killers and drug dealers. Not a family he was forced into, but what other choice did he have? He'll just have to live with it and learn to accept his situation as it is. If this was going to be his family now, so be it. 

"Mr. Corleon, I-"

"Vito. Please", he cut Peter off, correcting him.

"Vito, can I take a break from fighting? Just a couple of days. My hands... they're..", Peter's voice slightly trembled in desperation as he spoke, the pain in his hands unbearable.  Peter slowly undoes the bandages from his hands to show them to Vito and how beaten up and wounded they are. Vito looks at them with a straight face, no reaction coming from him. Peter wasn't surprised. A man like him has probably seen way more than just a couple of broken knuckles and bruises.

"Sure, sure. Take all the time you need," Vito said.

Peter sighed in relief, a grateful smile spreading on his lips. "T-thank you."

"Don't mention it. Go home. Rest. We'll talk more business after," Vito says, dismissing him with a wave of a hand as he walked back to sit behind his desk. 

Peter nods his head and without hesitation, he gets up and leaves, thanking the lord that that's done with. 

Vito took a long drag from his cigar as he eyed Peter walking out frantically, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down with caution. 

"Michael, keep an eye on him," Vito ordered. 

"Alright. I'll send Luca to follow him," Michael replied, already reaching out for his phone and making the call. 

Vito wanted to make sure that kid was going to be part of the Sicilians and only the Sicilians. The boy was his responsibility now, and he made sure of it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's all confusing right now. Vito is being a decent person, Tony's flashbacks, yada yada i know it's all a cluster but i swear the story comes together later on I SWEAR
> 
> la famiglia prima di tutto means Family comes first
> 
> also I know Vito is very touchy feely with Peter but that's just his character. If you watch the godfather, you can see how they all greet each other with hugs and kisses they're just affectionate people like that so pls don't jump to conclusions he's not a pedo or anything like that you can relax.


End file.
